Chapter Two
Title: Where You Least Expect It
Spoilers: Nothing past season 6
Rating: MA (mild language, and ladysex)
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Don't sue.
Summary: Sometimes you find comfort where you least expect it.
Sharon’s home was exactly what Brenda was expecting, and then again, it wasn’t. The furnishings inside were sleek; elegant, much like the woman herself. It was clean, almost shiny, and Brenda felt suddenly embarrassed, even though the Captain had never seen her own messy home. The house was a spacious place, Californian in every sense; the damn thing even had an atrium in the middle, open to the sky, with potted plants and benches and everything. How Sharon had found this place or how she managed to pay for it was a mystery to Brenda. Brenda was also confused about when exactly she’d started thinking about the Captain as Sharon instead of that woman, but she had. She was Sharon now. And for some reason, that scared Brenda.
Sharon toed off her shoes, and Brenda did the same, following her as she wandered down the front hall towards the kitchen. Brenda couldn’t help her searching gaze as she moved through the house, looking for pictures, or notes, or letters, something to tell her more about Sharon, the woman. Brenda imagined that Sharon the woman was quite different from Captain Raydor. And that thought scared her, too.
The kitchen was huge, with a heavy oak table and chairs off to the side, and shiny black appliances. It looked like Sharon spent a lot of time in there. I bet she’s a great cook, too, Brenda thought glumly.
Sharon pulled a corkscrew out of a drawer and opened a bottle of wine sitting on the counter. She pulled two glasses down and filled them, and held one out to Brenda. They hadn’t spoken since Sharon had practically dragged Brenda off the elevator and into her car.
Brenda was grateful, though. She was grateful that Sharon hadn’t insisted on making small talk. Grateful that Sharon had offered her a place to stay. Grateful for the glass of really good wine in her hand. It wasn’t Brenda’s usual Merlot, but sometimes change was good.
That thought scared Brenda, too. She hated change. She hated having to alter her routine, hated having to look at the world in a different way. Why, then, did change suddenly seem like such a good idea? What was it about standing next to Sharon Raydor in this kitchen that made Brenda think that maybe it was time she changed things up a bit?
“Are you hungry?” Raydor asked, sitting her wine down on the counter and going to the fridge.
“No, I ate in the office. Thank you, though,” Brenda added quickly. Her mama had done her best to teach Brenda manners, and though Brenda often ignored those lessons, she did occasionally try to behave the way her mama wanted her to.
Sharon just shrugged and pulled a container out of the fridge. Brenda looked at it closely as Sharon dug through a drawer looking for a fork, and she couldn’t help but smile. It was Chinese take-out. Nice to know that even the Wicked Witch ate cold take-out some nights.
Sharon leaned against the counter, holding the container in one hand and the fork in the other, and Brenda felt mesmerized as she watched her eat. How is it possible, she wondered, that Sharon could make something as undignified as eating cold take-out as graceful and…sensual as she did? Sensual? Was that really a word Brenda was using to describe her now?
Brenda shook her head at herself, and took a deep drink of wine. The corner of Sharon’s mouth twitched into an almost-smile, but she said nothing.
The silence stretched between them, and Brenda was running out of places to look that weren’t Sharon Raydor.
“You have a lovely home,” Brenda said finally, desperately hoping that conversation might distract her from the appearance of the woman standing across the kitchen from her.
“Hmm”, Sharon hummed, swallowing a bite before she answered. “Thank you.”
That was it. Just “thank you”. Not nearly enough. Because Brenda was still studying her. The ease with which she held herself. The way her green eyes sparkled behind her glasses. Hell, even the woman’s ears were somehow charming. I am so screwed, Brenda thought to herself.
“Don’t you have children?” Brenda asked, remembering a conversation from the debacle that was last Christmas.
Sharon nodded. “I have two girls,” she said. Took another bite. Watched Brenda with a slightly amused expression on her face, as if waiting to see what she might say next.
Clearly, she wasn’t going to make this easy on Brenda.
“Where are they?” Brenda asked, looking around to emphasize her point. The front door was locked when they arrived, and the house was silent save for the clinking of glasses and the ticking of the clock in the hallway. Ticking clocks were going to be the death of her.
“They’re both in college.” Sharon paused, but Brenda must have looked as frustrated as she felt, because the woman took pity on her. “Emma’s in law school back East, and Chloe’s a junior at Berkeley.”
“You must be proud,” Brenda said, because she felt like that was what she was supposed to say.
Sharon smiled. “I’m their mother. I’ll be proud of them no matter what they do.”
Conversation became easier as the night stretched on. Brenda found that talking to Sharon Raydor was quite pleasant when she had a glass of wine in her hand. They talked mostly about work, because if Brenda was honest with herself, she wasn’t sure she could talk about anything else. She didn’t know anything about Sharon. She didn’t go the movies. She didn’t read books. She didn’t keep up with the news outside what was going on in the LAPD. She realized suddenly that she must be an incredibly boring conversationalist.
Sharon didn’t seem to mind, though. She smiled, and even laughed occasionally. She was gorgeous when she laughed.
And there it was again. Brenda kept getting distracted by how Sharon looked. Kept getting distracted by her voice. Kept losing her train of thought when Sharon ran her fingers through her hair.
And where the hell was that coming from? Brenda had always thought Sharon was beautiful, the way she sometimes thought other women were beautiful, but standing here in the kitchen, drinking wine and talking to her, that was all she could think about. And she was frightened by her thoughts. She was frightened by how badly she wanted to reach out and touch Sharon’s hand. She wasn’t ashamed; she was afraid of how Sharon might respond. She was afraid she might be thrown out of the house. She was afraid of what Sharon would say.
“I’m going to change my clothes,” Sharon said suddenly, rising off the counter she’d been leaning against for going on two hours now. “Make yourself at home.” She swept past Brenda without another word, and for the second time that day Brenda felt suddenly bereft in her absence.
Brenda wandered around the one-story home, looking at the picture frames she’d noticed on the way in, but hadn’t had time to study. She picked one up and smiled. Sharon and two girls who had to be her daughters. Brenda ran her fingers across the picture, wondering if Sharon’s hair had been red like theirs when she was young. Wondering if their father’s eyes were brown like theirs. Wondering where their father was.
She put the picture down and set out to explore more of the house. She wanted to go sit in the atrium, but she couldn’t quite figure out how to get in there, and so began to search for another door.
What happened next was a complete accident.
Sharon’s children were grown, and had been out of the house for a while. Sharon had gotten used to living alone. Sharon had had three glasses of wine, and she wasn’t thinking things through. Sharon had not closed her bedroom door when she stepped inside to change.
Brenda found her standing in the middle of her room, her back towards the door. She’d turned on a lamp by her bed instead of the overhead light, and in the soft glow of the room, she looked heavenly. She’d already slipped out of her shirt, and she was bent slightly at the waist, her long hair falling over one shoulder as she undid the clasp on her skirt. It slid to the ground, revealing lacy black panties that matched her bra. Expensive, and classy. Like Sharon herself.
Brenda’s heart stopped in her chest.
She couldn’t see all of Sharon like this, but she could see enough, and she fought the urge to cross the room and take Sharon in her arms. She wanted to touch her. She wanted so badly to touch her, but she couldn’t move.
Sharon lifted her skirt on the end of one delicate foot, caught it in her hand, and tossed it in the general direction of the dirty clothes hamper on the other side of the room. She reached out without looking and picked her brush up off the dresser, and started running it through her hair, humming softly.
She looked almost magical then, mostly naked in the half darkness, and Brenda couldn’t stop herself.
If asked about it later, she wouldn’t be able to explain why she did what she did. Brenda often didn’t understand her own motives; she acted, and then dealt with the consequences later.
She crossed the room to Sharon in a few short steps. Sharon continued to brush her hair, giving only the slightest indication that she knew Brenda was there when she stopped humming.
Brenda reached out with a tentative hand and stroked the curve of Sharon’s spine from the base of her neck to the edge of her panties.
Sharon stopped brushing her hair.
“Chief-“ she said softly, and Brenda found herself thrust suddenly back into reality.
“Oh God,” Brenda cried, and practically leapt away from her. She buried her head in her hands, her traitorous
hands, and fought the urge to cry.
Sharon wasn’t entirely sure what she was thinking, when she realized the Chief was standing in her doorway. She should have asked her to leave, should have acted embarrassed, but she wasn’t embarrassed, so she didn’t. She stood there in her underwear, with the weight of the Chief’s gaze on her, and tried to distract herself by humming.
And then Brenda had entered the room, and Sharon had stopped humming because she’d stopped breathing. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could barely keep her hand moving through her hair, but she had stood perfectly still and waited.
And when she’d felt the touch of Brenda’s hand on her skin, she realized that was what she’d wanted all along.
She had sort of left the door open on purpose. It had been three years since Chloe had gone away to college, and since then, except for holidays and summer breaks, the house had been hers. She’d gotten used to living alone. She left the door open because she usually did. But of course she’d known she wasn’t alone, and whether she wanted to admit it or not, a part of her had hoped that Brenda would come looking for her. And when that hope had become a reality, she was amazed by how relieved she’d been. Relieved she wasn’t the only one who was feeling…things.
And then she’d ruined it, of course, because she’d spoken. Maybe if she’d just kept her mouth shut, Brenda would be stripped down to her underwear now, too. But she wasn’t. She was standing a good six feet away, head in her hands.
Sharon didn’t know what to do. She knew what she wanted to do, but she wasn’t sure what she should do. Then again, Sharon rarely did what she should do when she was around Brenda Leigh Johnson, so she gave in to her own instincts.
She walked over to Brenda, painfully aware of her current state of undress, and reached out to her. “Brenda?” she asked, angry with herself for how timid she sounded.
“I’m sorry!” Brenda cried, flinching away. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, you’re just being so good to me, and you looked so…so…”
“Brenda, it’s ok.” Sharon said, reaching again and pulling her close. Brenda was still trying to hide her face in her hands but she didn’t back away.
“No, it’s not, I don’t know why I ever thought that…” Brenda’s voice trailed away as she shook her head against Sharon’s chest.
“Brenda,” Sharon started, but she was disheartened that she couldn’t see her face. “Brenda,” she said again, but still the woman didn’t look up.
So Sharon gently nudged her chin until Brenda was looking up at her with tear stained eyes, and did the only thing that made sense.
She kissed her.
Brenda didn’t know what to do when she felt Sharon’s lips on her own; she just knew that this was exactly what she wanted, and she wanted to do whatever was necessary to keep Sharon's lips on her for as long as possible. She slipped her hands out from between them and placed them gingerly on Sharon’s back.
Even that small concession had Sharon smiling against her mouth, and Brenda smiled right back, running her hands up and down the expanse of skin she’d only just grazed before. Her left hand came to rest in the small of Sharon’s back, and her right hand ran up Sharon’s neck and tangled in her hair.
Sharon made a soft sound of appreciation in the back of her throat and reached for the buttons on Brenda’s shirt.
And that was the moment Brenda stopped thinking coherently.
Sharon’s slender fingers were making quick work of her buttons, and Brenda decided to help things along by reaching behind her and undoing the zipper of her own skirt, kicking it away when it pooled around her ankles.
Sharon moaned when she pulled Brenda closer, feeling their skin touching, knowing they were both as far gone as she hoped they were.
Brenda’s mouth slid away from Sharon’s, down the long column of her throat, and Sharon moaned, slipping her thigh between Brenda’s legs, pressing against her.
In a single instant of clarity, Brenda berated herself for not wearing her nice underwear today, but Sharon didn’t seem to mind as she ground her leg against Brenda, and a moan slipped out between Brenda’s mouth and Sharon’s breast. She found the hard nub of Sharon’s nipple under the black lace, and bit down until Sharon whimpered.
Brenda had never thought about what Sharon Raydor might sound like in this compromising position, but she knew that no sound she could have imagined would have been as good as the sounds Sharon was making right now.
Sharon was content for a while to let Brenda lead the way, but it was too much. She could feel Brenda’s dampness against her leg, could feel her breath and teeth and tongue on her breast, and she couldn’t take it anymore. She took hold of Brenda by the hips, and steered her toward the bed in a manner that left no room for discussion.
Brenda collapsed backwards on the bed, tugging Sharon down with her, and Sharon only had a moment to wonder at how lovely she was, with her blonde hair spilling across Sharon’s pillows, her nipples puckering under the fabric of her bra and Sharon felt the need to touch her, everywhere. To hear her scream.
Brenda felt Sharon’s long slender fingers slipping down her belly and towards the edge of her panties and let out a moan of anticipation and want, a sound that at any other time, with any other lover would have embarrassed her. It did nothing but spur Sharon on.
Sharon tugged Brenda’s underwear down her legs, taking her time to feel the smooth skin, the goosebumps that followed the touch of her fingers. Brenda was all but whining when Sharon finally, finally slid back up her legs, and touched one finger gently to Brenda’s sex at the same time she slipped her tongue into Brenda’s mouth.
Brenda shuddered underneath her, opening to her in every possible way. Sharon added a finger and Brenda pulled her mouth away just long enough to say, “do you always have to go first?” before she flipped them over.
Sharon seemed genuinely shocked as she stared up at Brenda, who only grinned back at her.
“Brenda-“ Sharon began, but she her words turned into a long moan when Brenda pushed two fingers inside her without preamble. Sharon arched up beneath her, begging, “please, oh, please…”
Brenda needed no encouragement. Sharon felt perfect underneath her, warm and soft and smooth and writhing just from the touch of Brenda’s hand. Brenda leaned down to feather kisses along Sharon’s jaw, thrusting her hand in and out of Sharon, surprised by how badly she wanted this.
And then Sharon’s hands were on her again, her fingers dipping inside Brenda until she found the same rhythm, and they fucked each other in time with their gasping breaths until they cried each other’s names in ecstasy, collapsing against one another.
Spoilers: Nothing past season 6
Rating: MA (mild language, and ladysex)
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Don't sue.
Summary: Sometimes you find comfort where you least expect it.
Sharon’s home was exactly what Brenda was expecting, and then again, it wasn’t. The furnishings inside were sleek; elegant, much like the woman herself. It was clean, almost shiny, and Brenda felt suddenly embarrassed, even though the Captain had never seen her own messy home. The house was a spacious place, Californian in every sense; the damn thing even had an atrium in the middle, open to the sky, with potted plants and benches and everything. How Sharon had found this place or how she managed to pay for it was a mystery to Brenda. Brenda was also confused about when exactly she’d started thinking about the Captain as Sharon instead of that woman, but she had. She was Sharon now. And for some reason, that scared Brenda.
Sharon toed off her shoes, and Brenda did the same, following her as she wandered down the front hall towards the kitchen. Brenda couldn’t help her searching gaze as she moved through the house, looking for pictures, or notes, or letters, something to tell her more about Sharon, the woman. Brenda imagined that Sharon the woman was quite different from Captain Raydor. And that thought scared her, too.
The kitchen was huge, with a heavy oak table and chairs off to the side, and shiny black appliances. It looked like Sharon spent a lot of time in there. I bet she’s a great cook, too, Brenda thought glumly.
Sharon pulled a corkscrew out of a drawer and opened a bottle of wine sitting on the counter. She pulled two glasses down and filled them, and held one out to Brenda. They hadn’t spoken since Sharon had practically dragged Brenda off the elevator and into her car.
Brenda was grateful, though. She was grateful that Sharon hadn’t insisted on making small talk. Grateful that Sharon had offered her a place to stay. Grateful for the glass of really good wine in her hand. It wasn’t Brenda’s usual Merlot, but sometimes change was good.
That thought scared Brenda, too. She hated change. She hated having to alter her routine, hated having to look at the world in a different way. Why, then, did change suddenly seem like such a good idea? What was it about standing next to Sharon Raydor in this kitchen that made Brenda think that maybe it was time she changed things up a bit?
“Are you hungry?” Raydor asked, sitting her wine down on the counter and going to the fridge.
“No, I ate in the office. Thank you, though,” Brenda added quickly. Her mama had done her best to teach Brenda manners, and though Brenda often ignored those lessons, she did occasionally try to behave the way her mama wanted her to.
Sharon just shrugged and pulled a container out of the fridge. Brenda looked at it closely as Sharon dug through a drawer looking for a fork, and she couldn’t help but smile. It was Chinese take-out. Nice to know that even the Wicked Witch ate cold take-out some nights.
Sharon leaned against the counter, holding the container in one hand and the fork in the other, and Brenda felt mesmerized as she watched her eat. How is it possible, she wondered, that Sharon could make something as undignified as eating cold take-out as graceful and…sensual as she did? Sensual? Was that really a word Brenda was using to describe her now?
Brenda shook her head at herself, and took a deep drink of wine. The corner of Sharon’s mouth twitched into an almost-smile, but she said nothing.
The silence stretched between them, and Brenda was running out of places to look that weren’t Sharon Raydor.
“You have a lovely home,” Brenda said finally, desperately hoping that conversation might distract her from the appearance of the woman standing across the kitchen from her.
“Hmm”, Sharon hummed, swallowing a bite before she answered. “Thank you.”
That was it. Just “thank you”. Not nearly enough. Because Brenda was still studying her. The ease with which she held herself. The way her green eyes sparkled behind her glasses. Hell, even the woman’s ears were somehow charming. I am so screwed, Brenda thought to herself.
“Don’t you have children?” Brenda asked, remembering a conversation from the debacle that was last Christmas.
Sharon nodded. “I have two girls,” she said. Took another bite. Watched Brenda with a slightly amused expression on her face, as if waiting to see what she might say next.
Clearly, she wasn’t going to make this easy on Brenda.
“Where are they?” Brenda asked, looking around to emphasize her point. The front door was locked when they arrived, and the house was silent save for the clinking of glasses and the ticking of the clock in the hallway. Ticking clocks were going to be the death of her.
“They’re both in college.” Sharon paused, but Brenda must have looked as frustrated as she felt, because the woman took pity on her. “Emma’s in law school back East, and Chloe’s a junior at Berkeley.”
“You must be proud,” Brenda said, because she felt like that was what she was supposed to say.
Sharon smiled. “I’m their mother. I’ll be proud of them no matter what they do.”
Conversation became easier as the night stretched on. Brenda found that talking to Sharon Raydor was quite pleasant when she had a glass of wine in her hand. They talked mostly about work, because if Brenda was honest with herself, she wasn’t sure she could talk about anything else. She didn’t know anything about Sharon. She didn’t go the movies. She didn’t read books. She didn’t keep up with the news outside what was going on in the LAPD. She realized suddenly that she must be an incredibly boring conversationalist.
Sharon didn’t seem to mind, though. She smiled, and even laughed occasionally. She was gorgeous when she laughed.
And there it was again. Brenda kept getting distracted by how Sharon looked. Kept getting distracted by her voice. Kept losing her train of thought when Sharon ran her fingers through her hair.
And where the hell was that coming from? Brenda had always thought Sharon was beautiful, the way she sometimes thought other women were beautiful, but standing here in the kitchen, drinking wine and talking to her, that was all she could think about. And she was frightened by her thoughts. She was frightened by how badly she wanted to reach out and touch Sharon’s hand. She wasn’t ashamed; she was afraid of how Sharon might respond. She was afraid she might be thrown out of the house. She was afraid of what Sharon would say.
“I’m going to change my clothes,” Sharon said suddenly, rising off the counter she’d been leaning against for going on two hours now. “Make yourself at home.” She swept past Brenda without another word, and for the second time that day Brenda felt suddenly bereft in her absence.
Brenda wandered around the one-story home, looking at the picture frames she’d noticed on the way in, but hadn’t had time to study. She picked one up and smiled. Sharon and two girls who had to be her daughters. Brenda ran her fingers across the picture, wondering if Sharon’s hair had been red like theirs when she was young. Wondering if their father’s eyes were brown like theirs. Wondering where their father was.
She put the picture down and set out to explore more of the house. She wanted to go sit in the atrium, but she couldn’t quite figure out how to get in there, and so began to search for another door.
What happened next was a complete accident.
Sharon’s children were grown, and had been out of the house for a while. Sharon had gotten used to living alone. Sharon had had three glasses of wine, and she wasn’t thinking things through. Sharon had not closed her bedroom door when she stepped inside to change.
Brenda found her standing in the middle of her room, her back towards the door. She’d turned on a lamp by her bed instead of the overhead light, and in the soft glow of the room, she looked heavenly. She’d already slipped out of her shirt, and she was bent slightly at the waist, her long hair falling over one shoulder as she undid the clasp on her skirt. It slid to the ground, revealing lacy black panties that matched her bra. Expensive, and classy. Like Sharon herself.
Brenda’s heart stopped in her chest.
She couldn’t see all of Sharon like this, but she could see enough, and she fought the urge to cross the room and take Sharon in her arms. She wanted to touch her. She wanted so badly to touch her, but she couldn’t move.
Sharon lifted her skirt on the end of one delicate foot, caught it in her hand, and tossed it in the general direction of the dirty clothes hamper on the other side of the room. She reached out without looking and picked her brush up off the dresser, and started running it through her hair, humming softly.
She looked almost magical then, mostly naked in the half darkness, and Brenda couldn’t stop herself.
If asked about it later, she wouldn’t be able to explain why she did what she did. Brenda often didn’t understand her own motives; she acted, and then dealt with the consequences later.
She crossed the room to Sharon in a few short steps. Sharon continued to brush her hair, giving only the slightest indication that she knew Brenda was there when she stopped humming.
Brenda reached out with a tentative hand and stroked the curve of Sharon’s spine from the base of her neck to the edge of her panties.
Sharon stopped brushing her hair.
“Chief-“ she said softly, and Brenda found herself thrust suddenly back into reality.
“Oh God,” Brenda cried, and practically leapt away from her. She buried her head in her hands, her traitorous
hands, and fought the urge to cry.
Sharon wasn’t entirely sure what she was thinking, when she realized the Chief was standing in her doorway. She should have asked her to leave, should have acted embarrassed, but she wasn’t embarrassed, so she didn’t. She stood there in her underwear, with the weight of the Chief’s gaze on her, and tried to distract herself by humming.
And then Brenda had entered the room, and Sharon had stopped humming because she’d stopped breathing. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could barely keep her hand moving through her hair, but she had stood perfectly still and waited.
And when she’d felt the touch of Brenda’s hand on her skin, she realized that was what she’d wanted all along.
She had sort of left the door open on purpose. It had been three years since Chloe had gone away to college, and since then, except for holidays and summer breaks, the house had been hers. She’d gotten used to living alone. She left the door open because she usually did. But of course she’d known she wasn’t alone, and whether she wanted to admit it or not, a part of her had hoped that Brenda would come looking for her. And when that hope had become a reality, she was amazed by how relieved she’d been. Relieved she wasn’t the only one who was feeling…things.
And then she’d ruined it, of course, because she’d spoken. Maybe if she’d just kept her mouth shut, Brenda would be stripped down to her underwear now, too. But she wasn’t. She was standing a good six feet away, head in her hands.
Sharon didn’t know what to do. She knew what she wanted to do, but she wasn’t sure what she should do. Then again, Sharon rarely did what she should do when she was around Brenda Leigh Johnson, so she gave in to her own instincts.
She walked over to Brenda, painfully aware of her current state of undress, and reached out to her. “Brenda?” she asked, angry with herself for how timid she sounded.
“I’m sorry!” Brenda cried, flinching away. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, you’re just being so good to me, and you looked so…so…”
“Brenda, it’s ok.” Sharon said, reaching again and pulling her close. Brenda was still trying to hide her face in her hands but she didn’t back away.
“No, it’s not, I don’t know why I ever thought that…” Brenda’s voice trailed away as she shook her head against Sharon’s chest.
“Brenda,” Sharon started, but she was disheartened that she couldn’t see her face. “Brenda,” she said again, but still the woman didn’t look up.
So Sharon gently nudged her chin until Brenda was looking up at her with tear stained eyes, and did the only thing that made sense.
She kissed her.
Brenda didn’t know what to do when she felt Sharon’s lips on her own; she just knew that this was exactly what she wanted, and she wanted to do whatever was necessary to keep Sharon's lips on her for as long as possible. She slipped her hands out from between them and placed them gingerly on Sharon’s back.
Even that small concession had Sharon smiling against her mouth, and Brenda smiled right back, running her hands up and down the expanse of skin she’d only just grazed before. Her left hand came to rest in the small of Sharon’s back, and her right hand ran up Sharon’s neck and tangled in her hair.
Sharon made a soft sound of appreciation in the back of her throat and reached for the buttons on Brenda’s shirt.
And that was the moment Brenda stopped thinking coherently.
Sharon’s slender fingers were making quick work of her buttons, and Brenda decided to help things along by reaching behind her and undoing the zipper of her own skirt, kicking it away when it pooled around her ankles.
Sharon moaned when she pulled Brenda closer, feeling their skin touching, knowing they were both as far gone as she hoped they were.
Brenda’s mouth slid away from Sharon’s, down the long column of her throat, and Sharon moaned, slipping her thigh between Brenda’s legs, pressing against her.
In a single instant of clarity, Brenda berated herself for not wearing her nice underwear today, but Sharon didn’t seem to mind as she ground her leg against Brenda, and a moan slipped out between Brenda’s mouth and Sharon’s breast. She found the hard nub of Sharon’s nipple under the black lace, and bit down until Sharon whimpered.
Brenda had never thought about what Sharon Raydor might sound like in this compromising position, but she knew that no sound she could have imagined would have been as good as the sounds Sharon was making right now.
Sharon was content for a while to let Brenda lead the way, but it was too much. She could feel Brenda’s dampness against her leg, could feel her breath and teeth and tongue on her breast, and she couldn’t take it anymore. She took hold of Brenda by the hips, and steered her toward the bed in a manner that left no room for discussion.
Brenda collapsed backwards on the bed, tugging Sharon down with her, and Sharon only had a moment to wonder at how lovely she was, with her blonde hair spilling across Sharon’s pillows, her nipples puckering under the fabric of her bra and Sharon felt the need to touch her, everywhere. To hear her scream.
Brenda felt Sharon’s long slender fingers slipping down her belly and towards the edge of her panties and let out a moan of anticipation and want, a sound that at any other time, with any other lover would have embarrassed her. It did nothing but spur Sharon on.
Sharon tugged Brenda’s underwear down her legs, taking her time to feel the smooth skin, the goosebumps that followed the touch of her fingers. Brenda was all but whining when Sharon finally, finally slid back up her legs, and touched one finger gently to Brenda’s sex at the same time she slipped her tongue into Brenda’s mouth.
Brenda shuddered underneath her, opening to her in every possible way. Sharon added a finger and Brenda pulled her mouth away just long enough to say, “do you always have to go first?” before she flipped them over.
Sharon seemed genuinely shocked as she stared up at Brenda, who only grinned back at her.
“Brenda-“ Sharon began, but she her words turned into a long moan when Brenda pushed two fingers inside her without preamble. Sharon arched up beneath her, begging, “please, oh, please…”
Brenda needed no encouragement. Sharon felt perfect underneath her, warm and soft and smooth and writhing just from the touch of Brenda’s hand. Brenda leaned down to feather kisses along Sharon’s jaw, thrusting her hand in and out of Sharon, surprised by how badly she wanted this.
And then Sharon’s hands were on her again, her fingers dipping inside Brenda until she found the same rhythm, and they fucked each other in time with their gasping breaths until they cried each other’s names in ecstasy, collapsing against one another.